“They took over the terminal?”
“Not really. They reached a joint security arrangement with my battalion. Governor Dague wasn’t happy. She’s not waiting for the rest of the RRZ’s security forces to show up and secure the rest of the state.”
“Do you know how many soldiers and Marines the RRZ has in southern Maine?”
“Negative. We let the officers and the governor’s people worry about that,” joked the sergeant. “Right?”
The specialist nodded. “We just do what we’re told. Keeps us fed and out of trouble.”
“They have a battalion of Marines and a full brigade of soldiers from the 10th Mountain Division. They’re driving around in the latest generation Strykers and JLTVs, not to mention Black Hawk helicopters and Little Birds,” Alex told them. “I’m extremely worried about the governor’s declaration. If she escalates this, trouble will find all of us. Take care, gentlemen.”
The SUV accelerated down the middle of the two-lane road before the soldiers could respond. Ryan watched the soldiers walk toward the road, half expecting them to step into the road and fire at them. He reached into the foot well and yanked on the rifle butt to loosen it from its hiding place under Ken’s seat.
“Careful with that thing. I don’t want you blowing my foot off,” said Ken. “And what was that about, Captain? You trying to get us detained?”
Alex stared straight ahead.
“Earth to the captain,” said Ken.
“Dad,” added Ryan.
Alex swung his head toward Ryan, a distant, worried look on his face. “Sorry, I was thinking,” he muttered, adding words Ryan couldn’t hear before turning back to the road.
Ken looked back at Ryan, raising an eyebrow. Ryan shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, “It’s okay,” which seemed to ease Mr. Woods’ concerns, because he faced forward. A few moments of silence passed before his dad spoke.
“Two things. 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment never received their Category Five Response plan load out, which means battalion leadership never saw the orders placing them under federal control.”
“All of the other Guard units would have opened their federal orders,” said Ryan. “They would have figured it out eventually.”
“Without specific orders putting them under federal control, they’d have to follow the governor’s orders. They’re the only battalion-sized combat unit stationed in Maine, so I wonder if the other units up here just fell in line with 3rd Battalion.”
“What does it matter?” Ken asked.
“It matters because the governor has control of an entire battalion of soldiers, which has probably emboldened her to make some dangerous decisions. Squaring off against the RRZ is at the top of the list. And now she’s trying to create another battalion? Nothing good will come from that.”
“It’ll probably end up looking like a civil defense group. More symbolic than anything,” said Ken.
“I hope so,” said Alex, glancing at Ryan in the rearview mirror.
He stared at Ryan and briefly shook his head. The topic was closed, and Ryan knew why. Elements of 3rd Battalion, 172nd Regiment never accessed their Cat Five load out. Somewhere near Brewer, Maine, a battalion-sized cache of weapons and equipment was waiting to be discovered.
“Mr. Woods, were you just making that up about the trout fishing?” Ryan asked.
“I never lie about fishing or beer, son,” replied Ken, causing them to laugh.
“What do you think, Dad?”
“About the beer or the fishing?”
“The fishing,” Ryan said, thinking more about the beer.
“Why don’t we find a nice quiet spot on the other side of the Kennebec. One of those smaller streams I was telling you about this morning. Even if we don’t catch anything, we’ll take care of those beers,” said Ken.
“Works for me,” said Alex.
“What about the police on the bridge?” Ryan questioned.
“We’ll tell them we got sent back by the National Guard.”
Ryan felt uneasy about his dad’s sudden shift in focus. He hadn’t said a word about the fact that they hadn’t acquired any additional seeds to expand the gardens. The seeds had been critical to their plan for staying on the lake with the Walkers and Thorntons. He’d overheard his parents arguing about the dangers of making the trip. His dad had been hell-bent on the idea that they needed more seeds to survive, gaining his mom’s reluctant approval. Now the seeds were forgotten, pushed aside by the news of the governor’s declaration and the revelation that a battalion-sized supply cache sat untouched—less than an hour away.
No way. His dad couldn’t possibly be thinking about—
Ryan looked at the rearview mirror and saw his dad watching him. They stared at each other, communicating without speaking for several moments, before his dad winked.
Shit. He was thinking about it.
Chapter 22
Belgrade, Maine
The muffled sound of a vehicle engine carried across the backyard, drawing Kate’s attention away from the task of filling the buckets. She walked to the shore and hopped off the dock onto the matted grass. A quick glimpse of the silver BMW confirmed that Alex had returned. The buckets could wait. She headed for the deck, expecting to catch him inside, but he appeared at the side of the house before she reached the stairs.
“Need some help?” he asked, a serious look indicating she should answer “yes.”
“I don’t need any help, but I’ll gladly take some,” she said, eliciting no grin or change to his solemn façade.
She grabbed his hand and they strolled slowly across the backyard.
“What happened? No seeds?” she said.
“No seeds,” he said, squeezing her hand. “But that’s the least of our problems. I’ll check on the boat tomorrow—see if I can find a few clearly abandoned boats we can provision for anyone else that wants to leave.”
She stopped them. “Alex, you’re scaring me. What’s—”
“Let’s keep walking. I don’t want to alarm my parents or the kids,” said Alex.
“I’ll start walking when you start telling me what’s wrong,” said Kate.
“The governor of Maine essentially seceded from the United States,” he said, pulling her hand.
Kate let herself move forward, wondering how much of his statement was melodrama.
“I’m sure it’s just a symbolic protest,” she said. “It’s not like the state can untangle itself from the RRZ.”
“It’s trying. Johnny’s Seeds no longer sells seeds to the public. They joined the Maine Independence Initiative, which means everything they produce goes to the state—outside of the RRZ.”
“Sounds a little odd, but overall it should benefit the state,” she said.
“Johnny’s Seeds was guarded by soldiers from 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment, a National Guard unit under state control. I’m wondering if Johnny’s participation was voluntary,” said Alex.
“I thought the RRZ controlled all of the National Guard units?” said Kate, starting to understand why her husband looked despondent.
“So did I, until about two hours ago.”
“Where have you guys been for two hours?”
“Fishing and drinking,” Alex said.
“I thought I smelled stale beer,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Where’s Ryan?”
“Over at the Thorntons’,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Chloe.”
“That’s another issue,” she said.
Ryan and Chloe’s relationship had intensified during the fall, to the point where Alex and Kate decided they needed to revisit the topic of sex, focusing on the consequences of an unexpected pregnancy in their new surroundings. They had no confirmation of sexual contact, but the two of them frequently disappeared—last seen holding hands on one of the docks or walking into the forest next to their house. The absolute last thing they needed right now was a pregnancy.
“Don’t remind me. I was hoping it might have cooled o
ff over the winter, but apparently that wasn’t the case,” said Alex. “It’s going to make leaving here extremely complicated.”
“We don’t have to leave,” said Kate.
“The governor is trying to form another battalion. They’re recruiting all over northern and central Maine. This isn’t going to be a Salvation Army battalion,” he said, continuing before she could respond.
“Medina and her RRZ cronies will come down hard on Governor Dague. I wouldn’t count out a military response—at the very least they’ll seize key facilities and assets. They’ve already moved Marines up to Searsport.”
“When did that happen?”
“Recently. Supposedly, that’s what prompted the governor to sign her own death warrant,” said Alex.
“Don’t talk like that,” Kate said, shaking her head. “They’re not going to kill her.”
“No, but she’s skating on thin ice pulling something like this while the National Recovery Plan is still active. The Insurrection Act could be turned around and used against her, especially if an entire National Guard battalion has sided against the federal government. I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up one morning and discover that an additional brigade of 10th Mountain Division soldiers arrived during the night,” said Alex.
“More soldiers might not be a bad thing,” she offered.
“Not if the people up here are perceived as sympathetic with the Maine Independence Initiative. The soldiers wouldn’t be here to usher in a new era of hope and recovery.”
“No need to get shitty,” Kate said, jumping onto the dock, which swayed underneath her.
“Sorry,” Alex said, joining her.
He nestled against her back and put his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly against him, pressing his forehead against the back of her head.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you more,” said Kate, taking a deep breath and relaxing in his embrace.
They stayed that way for a few minutes, breathing in synch.
“Is there any way we can stay?” she asked.
Alex hesitated to answer. “I don’t see how. We don’t have enough seeds to support this many people, even if everything goes right with the harvest. The lakes have been depleted of most fish. I don’t think the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife will be stocking the lakes this spring.”
“If the state organizes food production, might we be able to fall back on that?” she asked hesitantly.
“It’s wishful thinking at best. I don’t see how they plan on distributing the food in any consistent, wide-reaching way. Most people don’t have cars, and I can’t imagine the state has the gasoline or diesel reserves needed to drive kale and potatoes from town to town on a weekly basis. They’ll have to limit food-distribution efforts to organized hubs—which will quickly draw large refugee populations. It’s a recipe for disaster,” said Alex.
“It’s something,” Kate said. “We have no idea what we’ll find once we set sail. What if the situation is just as wrecked in the Caribbean?”
“We have the desalinator and fishing gear. We’ll be fine, even if the eastern Caribbean turns out to be a bust. South America should be relatively unaffected by whatever hit the United States. We’ll head to French Guiana or the northern coast of Brazil for a major resupply. Argentina will be our ultimate goal.”
“Just like that?” Kate asked.
“Barring any unforeseen weather problems, we could be in Fortaleza within sixty days, which is pushing up against our stored food supplies. We’d need to leave within a week or two to stretch the food to South America,” he said.
“We’ve never sailed out of Casco Bay. I think you’re oversimplifying things,” Kate said, grabbing her bucket and leaving him behind.
“Kate! Think about what we’ve done so far. We can do this,” said Alex, jogging to catch up.
She stopped, staring at the placid lake to find the glimpse of serenity she needed to avoid starting an argument. Not only was he simplifying a forty-seven-hundred-mile open-ocean voyage, he was ignoring the most obvious fact.
“Your parents can’t do it. They won’t do it. Your dad has made that abundantly clear. How are you going to reconcile that, Alex?”
“They’ll come around.”
“No, they won’t, and if your parents stay, so will Ethan and Kevin. Now we’re only removing four people from your Maine starvation scenario.”
“Nice,” he said, frowning at her. “I’m not making this up. In roughly two months, we’re eating off the land for the rest of the year.”
“So, somehow we’re better off throwing ourselves at the mercy of a foreign government as what, boat people? We have no idea what the political climate will be toward Americans. What are we going to pay them with? Will they even let us off our boat? Will their Coast Guard confiscate our weapons? I think you’re romanticizing the other side of the journey, Alex. We won’t be received as tourists. Think immigration issues. Think holding cells. Think about the confiscation of everything we own, followed by a dusty bus ride to the nearest shithole border crossing. That’s the risk at the other end,” she said, stopping at the dock.
“We could try a transatlantic crossing,” he suggested.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Kate stated before jumping onto the floating dock.
“In thirty days or so, you could be sipping espresso in a French café,” said Alex, making the leap.
The dock shifted when he landed, causing Kate to raise her arms for balance.
“Tempting, but sailing through the North Atlantic sounds a lot worse than heading south,” she said.
“Half the time, and I doubt our friends across the pond will deport us,” said Alex. “We can bring our passports.”
“Funny,” she said, lowering her bucket into the water.
“I just got this urge to push you in,” said Alex.
“I can’t even begin to describe how much trouble you’d be in,” Kate said, smiling.
“More trouble than I’m already in?”
“You’re not in any trouble,” she said, lifting the bucket out and setting it next to Alex’s.
She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his scruffy neck. Alex smelled about as ripe as he looked, which had become the new norm in their life. She looked forward to the point when they could comfortably swim in the lake. Sponge bathing with a pot of stove-heated water served their utilitarian hygiene needs well, but did little beyond removing the surface layer of dirt and sweat. She yearned for a long, hot bath. Something she imagined would feel like a religious experience at this point. There was no sense in thinking about it right now.
“I guess there’s no harm in prepping the boat,” she said.
He kissed the top of her head. “I just need to make sure it’s still a viable option. Examine the water hoses, inspect the engine, maybe run it for a few minutes if the area is clear,” he said.
“You’ll have to bring the batteries out to start the engine,” Kate reminded him.
“I left one on the boat to operate the bilge pump. I’ll bring another in case it’s dead,” said Alex.
“Or stolen.”
“The whole boat could be stolen,” said Alex, rocking her gently.
“Then what?”
“Plan B.”
“Do I want to hear about Plan B?”
“I don’t really have a Plan B—yet.”
Kate didn’t completely believe Alex. He typically had Plans B through F worked out ahead of time. He was holding something back. Something he had seen. She’d have to shake the truth out of her son. Ryan couldn’t keep a secret, especially from his mother.
Chapter 23
Belfast, Maine
Brisk, salty air poured through Alex’s window. Tinged with seaweed and other familiar tidal smells, the onshore breeze reminded him of past sailing seasons. He’d head down to the South Portland waterfront with Ryan after the first warm stretch of April weather and start to tinker with the b
oat. It always marked the beginning of a long, but rewarding period of repairs and restoration. Sanding and varnishing worn teak, repainting the hull, rigging the sails, and sometimes an unexpected engine or electrical project.
All well worth the hassle when the boat cut through the harbor for the first time, a cold beer nestled into one of the cup holders on the steering pedestal. He looked forward to the possibility of sailing out of here, even if the occasion wouldn’t be celebrated with a can of local microbrew.
Sailing represented a form of freedom to Alex. A self-determination marked by endless possibilities outside of the United States. Staying holed up at the lake felt like a prison sentence, with few prospects in sight. He didn’t want to leave his close friends behind, but he didn’t want to eat them either—which could be a distinct possibility in December of next year if they couldn’t grow enough food. He stifled a laugh.
“What?” asked Charlie.
“Nothing,” Alex replied, watching the harbor appear between the buildings on Miller Street.
He’d chosen to bypass Belfast’s Main Street, noting an unusual amount of pedestrian activity on the streets near the town center. All eyes were drawn to his SUV, which left him with an uneasy feeling. He didn’t need to take the most direct path to the waterfront. He’d left the Katelyn Ann in the center of the mooring field, beyond the farthest marina. He nearly laughed out loud again.
“What?” insisted Charlie from the front passenger seat.
“Really, it’s nothing,” Alex said, craning his head forward for a better view of the harbor.
The number of boats had decreased dramatically. Shit.
“Alex, don’t make me beg. I need the humor,” said Charlie.
“You really don’t want to know,” said Alex.
The view opened as the tree-lined streets gave way to a grassy, open promenade overlooking the harbor. The boats had almost disappeared. Charlie started to say something, but stopped.
“This isn’t right, is it?” said Charlie.
“No. The harbor was crowded with boats in the fall,” said Alex, slowing the SUV.
“Did some of them sink due to the weather? I assume there’s a good reason you pull your boat out of the water in the winter,” said Charlie.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 141